


Lucrece

by Fastern



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Con/Rape Outside of Castiel/Dean Winchester, Non-Explicit, Past Rape/Non-con, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Arc: Lucifer Possessing Castiel (Supernatural), Post-Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29974212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fastern/pseuds/Fastern
Summary: After things have calmed, after they're all safe in the Bunker, Sam asks Castiel how he's doing after the whole Lucifer-possession fiasco.He opens a floodgate. He's here to catch Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	Lucrece

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> -Non-con is a major theme. It happens off-screen and is not described in extreme detail, but is referenced and discussed repeatedly. If this is a bad subject for you, please take care of yourself!  
> -If you see the angels as siblings there is angelcest in here. It's not romanticized.  
> -Lucifer doesn't actually appear in this, I tagged him because he's mentioned a lot.

Sam awoke with a start, unable to remember the nightmare he’d had. All he could remember raw sensation. Like the entire world had been pressing in on him, crushing his bones, breaking his spine, numbing every emotion except despair. He was in the Cage. He was in the Cage with Michael and Adam and Lucifer and there was nothing for any of them except an eternity of torment.

Then he was in his bed and something was tangled in his legs.

Sam threw his legs over the edge of the bed, the sheets twisted around his ankles, and rested his feet on the ground. The surge of blind adrenaline made his legs wobbly and made the world tilt.

Lucifer wasn’t here.

Sam wasn’t in the Cage; he was in his room in the Bunker and everything was alright. Dean was alive, Mom was alive, Castiel was alive, and he was safe. The realization swelled over him. Feeling returned to his legs. Nausea twisted at his stomach like a dull dagger. Sam rubbed his face with his hands.

Lucifer wasn’t here.

The mantra repeated, stuttering like pistol fire. His shirt clung to him with a fresh sheen of sweat, but years of sleepless nights made him an expert on post-nightmare haze. The minutes dragged. The sweat on his back dried. The steady hum of the Bunker’s air conditioning anchored him in the present.

He’d fallen asleep with the lights on, an old habit that had restarted after the Darkness first reared her head. Even before Amara, darkness had been inconceivably difficult. Though his Cage days were long behind him, he felt Lucifer digging his nails into his eyeballs and licking the blood off the side of his face. Sam remembered the nausea. His stomach stirred similarly now, those moments engrained like an old instinct. Sam wiped his sweaty brow and splashed water on his face in the bathroom. When that didn’t help, he stared at his haggard expression in the mirror.

Toni Bevell had done a number. Castiel may have healed the wounds, but mental scars weren’t so easily erased.

“Lucifer’s not here,” Sam reminded him, as if that was supposed to be a comfort. Nothing could be as bad as Lucifer and his Lucifer was long behind him.

He needed tea.

He checked the time before leaving his room—right past one in the morning. That meant Dean was still tossing and turning in bed; his brother didn’t drop off until well after four, though not for lack of effort. Despite repeating the mantra to himself, he was overwhelmed with the need to do some checks and for once there were other people he could do a check on.

Sam crept to the spare bedroom and cracked the door open. The small rectangle of light rested on Mary’s prone form curled up under the sheets.

Mary stirred, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “John?”

“No,” said Sam. “Sam.”

“Sammy? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Sam. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Mary squinted, but exhaustion made her suggestible. She nodded back off.

Sam shut the door and let out a breath. This was too weird.

He headed for the kitchen, determined to get tea, though he couldn’t help but check on Dean when he passed his room. His lights were out, but when he cracked the door open, he saw Dean tangled in the sheets, and for once sound asleep.

Trust Dean to sleep well after a near-death experience. Again.

Sam backed off before he could think about checking Dean’s pulse. He wasn’t that desperate yet. Sam’s heart started to still in his chest and he made the final trek to the kitchen.

When he approached, he found Castiel standing in the doorway, white-knuckling the door frame, and his expression clouded. Sam frowned. The unnatural look on Castiel made him feel unbalanced.

“Cas?” Sam said.

The clouds cleared when Castiel became aware of an audience. “Sam. What are you doing awake?”

“Need tea.”

“Is it alright if I join you?”

“Course.”

Sam edged into the kitchen and Castiel was close behind. The angel’s gait was shuffling and tense when he thought Sam wasn’t looking, eyes shifting to survey the room in a wide sweep. 

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” said Castiel. He sat, tense, at the table, and scratched at a knot in the wood. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m getting tea, aren’t I?” Sam said. He smiled over his shoulder.

“I can induce a dreamless sleep if you need it.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

Sam squinted. First at Castiel. Then in towards Dean’s room. “Did you…put Dean to sleep? When I checked in on him he was out like a light.”

Castiel’s insistent scratching at the wood knot increased. “…No.”

Sam sighed. “Cas, you know he hates it when you do that.”

“He was restless.”

“Ask next time.”

“I always do and he always refuses.”

“Then the answer’s no.”

“It bothers me when he doesn’t sleep.”

“I know you want to help, but you should ask next time instead of doing it without him knowing,” said Sam, with all the tone of someone trying to cajole a child into admitting that they’d stolen a toy. “Okay?”

He saw the defeat in every etch of Castiel’s face. He jerked his head in a nod.

The kettle sung and Sam poured two mugs of Chamomile tea, sitting beside Castiel at the table. Castiel held the mug between his hands and didn’t drink. Silence hung between them like a fresh corpse on the gallows.

“Hey, uh, how’re you doing?” Sam asked. “I didn’t get a chance to ask how you were after the whole Lucifer possession stuff.”

“Fine,” said Castiel.

Castiel was a terrible liar.

“He didn’t bother you?”

"I recreated your kitchen in my mind," Castiel gestured to their surroundings. "Lucifer left me alone in here much of the time."

“The kitchen? What were you doing? Making him a sandwich?”

“No, he wasn’t hungry.”

Sam’s mouth quirked in an almost-smile. “Right. So what did you do?”

“I watched television mostly. I was aware of what was happening, however over time it became easier to numb it out, particularly during the parts where Amara tortured us. Fortunately most of her vitriol was aimed towards Lucifer so I only received ’feedback,’ you might say.”

“You were still there.”

“This is Jimmy’s body. It’s just a conduit I project myself through to interact with the world. In stressful situations and with enough willpower, I can stay detached, as it were.”

“Right,” said Sam, as if he had any idea about what it was like to detach from his body. When Lucifer occupied the same space, he’d felt every dip in the temperature, every movement as if he’d been the one performing the action. He wondered if the experience was different when an angel occupied the vessel of another angel, if it was less like being overtaken and more like two people occupying the same room.

He was just about to ask Castiel if that was the case when he noticed the wobble of the cup as Castiel took a sip, expression doing the twisted molecule-tasting grimace he wore when something was too pungent. The type of nervous, repressed gesture Sam was accustomed to seeing from Dean, but not from Castiel. Castiel noticed him watching and steadied his hand.

“You know,” Sam folded his hands on the table. “If you need to talk about anything, I’m here. Okay? That’s an open invitation.”

“Thank you, Sam,” said Castiel, guarded.

“No problem.”

Castiel held the mug in his hands and stared at it. Sam’s heart was clenching and unclenching like someone was using it as a stress toy.

“Sometimes Lucifer and I would talk,” said Castiel.

Relief engulfed him. Trying to get Dean to open up was like wrenching open a door he was holding shut from the other side. With Castiel, all it took was a quiet knock and a bit of patience before he opened of his own accord. No fight, no mess, no stress.

“Yeah, Lucifer’s good at that,” said Sam. “What’d you talk about?”

“Mostly he insulted me. I believe he also wanted to gauge my loyalties and compared us quite a bit, although he referred to me as ‘an inferior model.’”

“Really?”

“Yes, he said rebellion ‘runs in the family’ and that I was ‘Humanity’s Lucifer.’”

“Cas, you know that’s not true.”

Castiel frowned. “He wasn’t wrong. We both rebelled and our brothers despise us. In Heaven’s eyes, I’m only a step above Lucifer. I’m in this…” He gestured to his surroundings. “Self-imposed exile and as much as I prefer Earth, Heaven is still ‘home.’ I wish I could extricate myself from that as much as I want to.”

“Do you miss how it used to be?”

“Parts of it. I miss my brothers, but the ones I was friends with are dead now. It makes my choice to stay earthbound much easier.” Castiel closed his eyes and when he opened them again, the overcast look was back. “Lucifer couldn’t understand that no matter how hard I tried to explain during our conversations.”

“He doesn’t like to try to understand. I know him. I wish I didn’t, but I know him.”

Castiel sighed. “When talking wasn’t enough, he fell back on torture to pass the time.”

The admission didn’t surprise Sam, though it still sent chills jittering down his spine like a rickety roller coaster. He made hasty repairs to smooth the ride by drinking tea.

“I’m sorry, I know what that’s like,” said Sam. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m talking about it now?” Castiel frowned.

“Uh, yeah, you are. You can talk about it to me some more if you need to, okay?”

“Well, it was torture, so…it was unpleasant.”

“Did you hear any of Dean’s prayers?”

“No, Lucifer filtered them out. You could say he was ‘reading my messages.’”

“So the prayers went to Lucifer instead of you?”

“Yes.”

Sam shook his head. “Probably shouldn’t tell Dean that, he’d be crushed.”

“I wasn’t planning to. He’s been through enough.”

“I just hope Lucifer didn’t do anything too intense, Cas, you don’t deserve that.”

Castiel fiddled with his mug and rotated it ninety degrees. “You were in the Cage with him, Sam. I think you’re familiar with the types of torture Lucifer prefers.”

Suddenly Sam’s mouth went dry and the fluttering in his chest cavity went from minute to overwhelming and the world swayed. He clutched the edge of the table to keep upright. The old scars on his soul ached. Dread flogged him with all nine lashes of the whip biting into his skin. No. God, No. Please. Not Castiel. Not Cas.

Castiel said his name once, soft and scared. Sam came back to himself and he was gripping Castiel’s arm in a death grip.

“Cas,” Sam said, voice tense and distant. “Cas. Tell me he didn’t.”

Castiel stared straight on ahead.

“Cas?” Sam said, with more urgency. “Tell me he didn’t, please.”

“I…” Castiel’s voice cracked. He swallowed. “I…I tried to explain…”

Sam grabbed onto Castiel’s arm with two hands and squeezed. Then the mug slipped out from between Castiel's fingers and shattered on the floor, and with it shattered everything else.

Castiel went boneless and limp, and he slid out of the chair to sink to his knees on the ground. Sam fell with him, grabbing him by the shoulders enough to brace the fall, to let himself falling alongside Castiel. So many times before he didn't catch him, but not this time. Not this time. Understanding bit its fangs hard and deep into him, enough to drawn blood and drain his spirit.

“Sam?” Castiel warbled out. He looked up, eyes glittering. It made Sam’s throat constrict. “I tried to explain to him…”

“I know,” Sam said. What could he say? He searched for words and nothing sounded good enough—a faded, half-assed knock-off of what real words should be. He realized he’d been staring for far too long and settled on, “I know, I know. Me too, Cas.”

Castiel threw his arms around Sam and clung to him, face burying in the crook of his shoulder. Sam had to force all his willpower from his gut to not flashback to the Cage—had to pump up his strength so he could hold onto Castiel. He grabbed onto his friend and he wasn’t going to let go and the angel began to tremble in his arms.

“I tried to explain to him,” Castiel whispered, voice shaking. “He’s my brother, I didn’t—he couldn’t—I let him in…Sam, he’s my brother…”

“I know,” Sam croaked. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

This couldn’t be happen. It felt unreal. Emotion surged through Sam in like fierce waves: love towards Castiel, disbelief towards circumstances, and above it all was a burning hatred towards Lucifer. No matter how high the waves got, it would never be enough to quell the typhonic and raw anger that crashed over Sam. The anger felt unfamiliar. Doing terrible things to Sam had been one thing. But betraying Castiel, his own brother? Deconstructing him? It was the tipping point of the proverbial edge Lucifer toed.

Sam bunched his fingers tight in Castiel’s coat, encompassing him close as if he could shield him from the worst of the damage. They must’ve crouched there for as long as the Israelites had wandered the desert. Full-body shudders pulsed through Castiel and Sam felt the racing thrum of the angel’s heart with their chests pressed so close together.

“He came…” Castiel hiccuped, voice quiet and muffled. “He came as Dean.”

Sam’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“He came as Dean the first time,” Castiel went on. “I—I thought it was Dean.”

Sam wanted to drop mortar and start building a brick wall to block the image, to keep himself safe. This couldn’t be happening. He dropped the trowel and let the image settle with him, because Castiel needed him.

“It’s his thing,” said Sam. “The first time for me, he came as Jessica.”

Castiel shuddered. “That’s very much like him.” Castiel burrowed his face deeper. “He laughed at me, he thought it was funny. After that he didn’t pretend, he just…”

“You don’t have to say,” Sam told him. “I know.”

“I couldn’t get away.”

“It’s not your fault. You were locked in your mind, you couldn’t have escaped.”

“T—The kitchen, he knew I felt safe in the kitchen…”

“Is that why you were standing outside?”

Castiel paused. “I haven’t been in here since Lucifer left.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“I needed to face it. I thought I could face it. It’s just a place—it’s not my head, but I remember the—the table where he—where he—”

“You don’t have to say it, Cas, I got you. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” 

He went to move Castiel. Before he could do so, he heard footsteps shuffling down the hall towards them. Every joint in Castiel’s body locked up.

“It’s not him, I promise,” Sam assured him.

Sam held Castiel close anyway as the footsteps rounded the corner and there was Dean, definitely looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, hair tousled, eyes drooping. The exhaustion woven into him cleared at once upon seeing the two of them crumpled on the floor.

“What the hell?” Dean said.

Dean scanned the room for danger and sank to his knees by them.

“Cas?” Dean looked helplessly to Sam. “What—?”

He didn’t have a chance to think of an excuse to offer when Castiel unfurled from him and looked at Dean with a reverence and awe that scared Sam. Dean’s face had been used to assault him, and Castiel looked at Dean with blind admiration despite that. No hesitation, no fear.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel said. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders.

“Uh, hi?” Dean blinked. He patted Castiel’s back. “Sam, did you roofie him or something?”

“Not a good time, Dean,” said Sam.

“Lucifer,” Castiel murmured into Dean’s shoulder. “When I was…When he was in my vessel, he assaulted me.”

Dean’s hand stilled on Castiel’s back, brow furrowed.

“He tortured you?” Dean asked.

“He assaulted me sexually.”

Dean’s expression stuttered like Lucifer had mowed him down with a sixteen-wheeler playing Celine Dion at full blast on the radio. Dean’s hand went from being still on his back to clutching Castiel tighter than Sam had ever seen him do, terror cresting in his eyes. His brow twisted up in a simultaneous crash of shock and bewilderment.

“W—What?” Dean stammered.

“It was not consensual,” said Castiel, as if Dean couldn’t discern that for himself.

“What?! _Fuck_.”

Sam sat back on the floor and dug his knuckles into his mouth. Castiel wasn’t crying and Sam wished to God he was. It would be cathartic to fill the quiet, to quell the alarm in his and Dean’s eyes when they locked. Tears would be something he knew what to do with, something he could encourage Castiel to dry off and let emotions pour out. Instead, there was just the quiet shudder of Castiel’s body wrapped tight in Dean’s arms.

All Sam could think about was the Cage and being trapped.

* * *

“You must think I’m disgusting.”

“Of course we don’t think that. You didn’t ask for this to happen, you didn’t ask for any of this. We’d never think that.”

It had taken half-an-hour for Castiel to calm enough to form coherent words. Curled on his side on Dean’s bed, there was a Winchester on either side of him. Castiel had refused to take off the coat—his expression striken as if they’d asked him to peel off a layer of skin. There had been no such resistance when it came to taking off his shoes, at least. The defensive silence was not so easy to strip away and Sam wasn’t nearly strong or cruel enough to do it by force. So the cadence of the angel’s rough voice, no matter how fractured, no matter how shuddering, sent relief unravelling through Sam like he’d untied the noose around his neck.

Sam rubbed Castiel’s arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture for both of them. Dean sat on the edge of the bed opposite, his back to them, his elbows resting on his knees, his head lowered. Sam knew from the bunched up shoulders that he was holding everything in.

Castiel peered out from between the fingers covering his eyes. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

“Cas, it’s not your fault,” said Dean, after being quiet for a long while. He touched Castiel’s shoulder with uncharacteristic tenderness. No bravado, no roughness.

“The angels might disagree,” Castiel murmured. “I prayed to my brothers, I asked them to help me and they never came. I was screaming for them.”

Dean’s mouth twisted in the way it did before he was about to insult angels. That’s not what Castiel needed, so Sam jumped in. “Lucifer probably drowned out your prayers.”

Dean’s grip was iron-tight. It matched his expression, and the expression remained up as Castiel hauled himself upright and rubbed at an eye with the heel of his palm. They were watery, but nothing had fallen.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” said Sam. “But I’m here to listen if you need it.”

“Yeah, same,” Dean agreed.

“I don’t want to upset you,” Castiel whispered.

“I’m already upset.”

Sam glared at Dean over Castiel’s hunched form.

“I’m not upset with _you_ ,” Dean clarified. “If you need to talk about it, we’re both here. Just don’t be surprised if I get pissy.”

“And if he gets pissy, he’s not pissy at you,” Sam added.

“That’s what I said.”

The silence that befell stretched into an eternity. Sam rubbed Castiel’s back in slow, circular motions, feeling Castiel’s lungs inflate and deflate. He hated Lucifer. He’d hated him before, hated him with all his being. But Lucifer had taken Castiel, who was so strong and endured so much, and torn another piece away. Castiel’s wounds ran so deep that Sam wondered if there would be anything left except scar tissue.

Sam didn’t expect Castiel to speak, but it was a testament to the profound strength with which the angel carried himself that he looked up with determination and sadness.

“Lucifer left me in the kitchen,” said Castiel. “Sometimes he got bored between…everything else. I don’t know how many times it happened. He was not gentle.”

“Yeah, the son of a bitch wouldn’t be,” said Dean.

“I fought him at first. After a while, I just—he was so strong, in a way that only archangels are, that I couldn’t do it anymore and I was tired and I stopped. He…He complained, he liked it better when there was resistance.”

Sam pulled himself onto the bed and wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel eased into his touch, his entire body relaxing.

“I’ve only had sexual intercourse once,” said Castiel. “I had no idea it could be that painful.”

“Lucifer made it painful,” said Sam. “It’s what he does.”

“If I...If I tell you something, you won’t laugh?”

“I don’t think either of us are laughing. You can trust us.”

“I know I can, it’s not about that, it’s just…”

“You’re ashamed.”

Castiel chewed his lip. “I’ve never cared what others thought about me. It was inconsequential—all that mattered were divine orders from Heaven. Lucifer…Lucifer got under my skin. He told me that I traded orders from Heaven to orders from you two, that I lowered myself to humanity’s level and demeaned Heaven. He said I was a slut and that everyone between Heaven and Hell knows which humans I serve.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Dean sighed.

“First off, don’t listen to anything Lucifer says,” said Sam. “You know he said that to hurt you, right? He was in your head. He takes things that you’re—you’re afraid of, and he twists them around to use them against you.”

Sam caught the moment Dean realized. It was a moment he’d been waiting for. Dean jerked like someone had branded him and gawked at Sam with intensity and fear that ignited a slow-burning fire in his gut. Sam felt strung out like Lucifer was wringing all the blood out of his heart. He tore away from Dean—this wasn’t about him. It was about Castiel. The fire could be quelled later. 

“I should’ve fought harder,” Castiel sighed.

“You were trying to survive,” said Sam.

Castiel gripped the sheets. He whispered, “Sometimes it felt good.”

Devastation was written all over Dean. Sam could see him wrestle with whether to touch Castiel. The world slowed to a standstill, all laws of physics breaking just for Sam to watch the moment where Dean stared at Castiel’s hand as if he wanted to grab it.

Do it. Sam screamed in his mind. Do it and don’t let go. Castiel needed him.

As if he’d been transmitting his thoughts, Dean met Sam’s eyes and the silent conversation they shared was silent and intense. Sam glanced at Castiel’s hand, then at Dean’s. He have him an if-you-don’t-do-it-so-help-me-I’ll-strangle-you glare.

Do it.

Dean’s hand hovered. Finally, he settled on Castiel’s knee and Sam sagged in relief. It wasn’t the hand, but at least it was a something. Castiel froze at the contact.

“I—I didn’t want it,” said Castiel with an air of defensiveness, his tone desperate, as if he felt he had to persuade them otherwise. “I didn’t—I didn’t want it, I swear.”

“No, no, no, we know you didn’t,” said Sam. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“But I—”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean emphasized. “Y’know, sometimes, you just—you can’t help it sometimes. I mean, sometimes things respond and there’s, like, not a good reason for it. I mean, I’m pretty sure when Sam was a teenager, he got turned on just by making eye contact with a girl.”

“Dean, you’re not helping,” Sam hissed, tacking on his best shut-up-Dean glare.

“My point is,” Dean continued, “your body responded how bodies do. Doesn’t mean you wanted it. Doesn’t mean Lucifer didn’t force you to do it.”

“It wasn’t my vessel’s body that was violated, Dean, it was in my mind."

“Did you feel it? Was it any less real, at least by angel terms?”

Castiel hesitated, then nodded.

“Then it was real.”

Castiel’s breath shuddered in and out of his chest. “…Why can’t I hate him?”

“You mean Lucifer?”

“Yes. I’m furious with him, I even—I hate many of his actions, I hate what he did to you two, I hate what he did to me, to humanity, and—and he’s evil. There’s no doubt about that. He’s evil. But I can’t hate him. I think I understand…I think I understand how Michael felt during the Apocalypse.”

“He’s your brother. Hard to hate your brother even when they’re being magnificently bitchy, trust me.”

“I want to.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can hate him enough for two people,” said Dean.

Castiel wasn’t much for smiling, but the corners of his mouth twitched in a faint suggestion of one. “I’m sorry.”

Sam took Castiel’s hand and sandwiched it between both his own. He remembered when they’d met and Castiel performed a similar gesture with all the awkwardness of a million-year-old angel who didn’t do handshakes. His hands were freezing to the touch.

“Cas, I don’t think we make it clear enough just how important you are to us and I’m sorry,” said Sam. “You’ve done more for us than you were ever been obligated to do and you do it because you care. If anyone doesn’t deserve this, it’s you.”

Sam connected with Dean’s eyes and the silent conversation continued with machine gun intensity. Dean jerked his head to the side, reluctant. Sam gave a Castiel-level stare, and he saw the visible bob of Dean’s throat as he swallowed his emotional constipation long enough to form words.

“I’m—“ Dean took a deep breath. “Cas. I’m scared for you. Whenever these things happen, you always get the short end of the stick and someone takes advantage of you, and I’m fucking sick of never being able to do anything about it. And this time you really, really got the short end of the goddamn stick.”

Castiel nodded, although the gesture was automatic rather than as a response. What was a response, though, was the way he looked between the brothers with awe, like he couldn’t quite believe he was there and they were there and they were all sitting on Dean’s bed talking about feelings. The flickering attempt at a smile almost turned into a real one and Castiel didn’t hide how he leaned into Sam’s touch.

"Listen, Cas, I know you like running off randomly, but…stick around for a few weeks, okay?" Dean asked. "Don’t go anywhere for a while. Just stay here and—and rest.”

“I don’t need sleep.”

“Not like that. I want you to take it easy—you deserve a break. You need a break.”

“Lucifer could still be out there,” said Castiel.

“Lucifer can wait,” said Dean. “He’s probably weak after everything that happened, anyway. He can’t hurt you and I don’t…I don’t want you going after him, not alone. Not after this.”

“I wouldn’t go after him alone.”

Castiel said 'wouldn't.' Sam heard 'can't.'

“Good.” Dean took Castiel by the shoulders, guiding him into a lying position. “Why don’t you sleep for a while?”

“I don’t sleep,” said Castiel.

“Well, lie there and pretend. You sure you don’t want to take off the coat?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, that’s alright.”

Castiel turned on his side and hugged one of the spare pillows to his chest as Dean pulled the blankets over him with all the gentleness he’d used for Sam when they were kids. His hands lingered a fraction of a second too long on Castiel’s shoulder before emotion crashed over like a violent wave. The moment it became too much, Dean abruptly stood and fled the room.

Time for the fallout. Sam sighed and stood to go after him.

“Wait!” Castiel exclaimed. “Wait. I don’t…I don’t wish to be alone.”

“I need to talk to Dean, then I’ll be right back, okay?” Sam soothed him. “We’ll be right outside.”

Castiel curled up tight under the sheets until only a tuft of dark hair was visible. Sam patted his knee before going after his brother.

Dean hadn’t gone far. He paced in the hall, his hands on his hips, expression tight, eyes watering. Sam gingerly closed the bedroom door behind him, though with Castiel’s senses, he didn’t know if that would stop him from overhearing.

“I’m gonna kill him, Sam,” Dean said, voice cracking. “I’m gonna make it slow and painful. Everything Alastair did to me, I’m gonna do to Lucifer.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam agreed.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “Son of a bitch, this is fucked up. I’m gonna fucking kill him. Cas is his brother and it didn’t—it didn’t stop him?! He didn’t even think about it for a second?!”

“He’s Satan, fucked up things are kinda what he does.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? Aren’t you upset?”

“I’m sure I’ll cry about this in the shower later, but right now I gotta keep it together for Cas and for you.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s bullshit.”

Dean pressed his forehead against the wall. He wasn’t crying—Sam was sure he’d save that for when he was alone and there were no witnesses. For Dean, crying was a crime with a mandatory life sentence, and if he started now, there would be no stopping. Sam took his shoulder anyway. 

“Sam?” Dean said. “When you were in the Cage with Lucifer…did he…?”

Sam considered letting his silence answer him. Instead, he mulled over how he was going to break it. One wrong phrase and Dean would lash out like a solar flare at the Devil, himself—and he wasn’t about to risk losing his brother yet again. Not so soon.

“When he got bored with straight up torture, yeah,” Sam admitted.

It hit him.

He’d never said it out loud before.

It felt different from the way he’d expected it. It felt cold. Clinical. Like he was describing someone else’s experiences rather than admit that he’d been raped. He’d had years of repression under his belt, of burying memories he had of the Cage. Castiel knew—he’d taken his Cage scars, broken him out himself. It hurt far less that Castiel knew than Dean.

“Sam, why didn’t you tell me?” Dean asked.

“I…I don’t know,” He lied. He knew the reason. Dean probably knew, too. “Helps that I don’t remember all of it. It’s kind of fuzzy.”

“Oh, and that makes it better?”

“No, but it makes it easier to keep going.”

Dean didn’t move. His pupils constricted and his throat bobbed with the thinly-suppressed sobs getting stuck there. Then he grabbed Sam by the shoulders and yanked him into a crushing hug. He could feel the broken, emotional flurry humming in Dean’s body.

Sam held Dean and was glad that he couldn’t see his face—he didn’t want him to see the well-buried trauma leaking from the dusty corners of his soul. Later, when he was alone, he would cry about this in the shower, and then he would repress and move on in a way that only Winchesters did. And then he would see the ruin on Castiel’s face and it would start gathering again. Later. Now, he had Dean and everything was too real.

They clung together far longer than they usually did. When they drew apart, Dean’s determined stoicism rested under a fractured mask.

“I wish you’d told me, man, I really wish you’d told me,” said Dean.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam.

“Don’t be sorry, geez.”

“Sorry.”

Dean rubbed his eyes. “I need to…I need to take a drive. A long drive.”

“You do what you gotta do. Just don’t go looking for Lucifer without me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“We’ll get him, Dean, just not tonight.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. He hugged Sam again. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Take as long as you need. I’m gonna sit up with Cas.”

Dean went down the hall and disappeared around the corner. When he came back, maybe they’d be able to process and talk about it, but the shock ran strong and it ran deep. A few hours in the Impala, speeding down the highway at unsafe speeds, would do him good. For now, Sam ducked back into Dean’s room to find Castiel half-sitting up, waiting for him.

Sam eased Castiel back down under the blankets and climbed onto the bed beside him. He stretched out his legs and stared at the ceiling, and all he could see were the swirls of the nightmares he’d forgotten and wishing that he was still there. That he was still in a nightmare.

At least when it was a nightmare, he could rest easy knowing that it hadn’t been real.

Then Castiel curled into Sam’s side in a gesture much friendlier and touchy-feely than he was used to getting from the angel.

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel whispered. He looked up with awed gratitude.

And Sam remembered that nightmares ended.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still a "new" fan to Supernatural but I have a lot of feelings and opinions.
> 
> He is Lucifer so he's probably horrible.
> 
> I need to watch more episodes.
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos/comments if it tickles your fancy! I always reply and know that you are loved and appreciated, even if you just chose to read and run. <3


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